The Secret Mistress Presents :
by siriuswriter
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the innermost secrets of Harry Potter characters. Disregard DH, as I began them before the book came out. I'm not sure if any more will be coming out, give me a shout if you want to see a secret of a particular character.
1. Hermione Granger

My name is Hermione Granger, and I have a secret.

It was the numb feeling I noticed first, I suppose. When you're married, you're supposed to feel all warm inside, it's supposed to be like an internal flame from your toes to your ear tips. But I felt… nothing. No, not nothing. Nothing would be easier to explain, I would be able to say I was sick if I felt "nothing."

I felt numb. His hand would go to my cheek, and I would feel the oddest sensation. I_ knew_ something was pressing there, my nerves expected some kind of feeling to run up through my central nervous system, but the connection failed – all I felt was a slight pressure. There was no warmth there, no tingling that would begin at the base of my spine and run all the way up to the nape of my neck, causing me to shiver involuntarily, like there had first been when Ron and I began to see each other.

He was so goddamn hopeful. That was the worst part. He knew I wasn't as happy, something had set his radar off. Those blue eyes of his would look into my face, he would catch my hand as I would be walking out of a room, demanding "…just one more kiss, 'Mione, just one last kiss." I couldn't begrudge him that. Maybe he felt that a multitude of "last kisses" would end up being the start of it all again.

When we started to keep to ourselves more, I knew that he knew. There was no more spontaneous asking the lads if they wanted to come around for a pint, or going over to the Weasley's for a cuppa. We both knew what resided over at the Weasley's. It made me somewhat furious. Did he think I had no self-control, that I would immediately start screaming to _him_, "Get me out of here, take me away from these red-headed idiots, anywhere, just _kiss me_ you ignorant fool!"

I had self-restraint. I had control. I was, after all, the smartest witch of my age. And it broke my heart.

My name is Hermione Granger, and I have a secret. I'm in love with my husband's best friend, The Man Who Lived. Harry Potter.


	2. Fred Weasley

My name is Fred Weasley, and I have a secret.

The first thing you have to understand is that I am not exactly like my brother.

That would be my brother George.

Of course I have to tell you which one. Haven't I got about seventy of them?

So. The first thing you have to understand is that I am not exactly like my brother, my twin, George. He's less… bold. You wouldn't believe it just by spending time with us once in a while, or even on a day to day basis. You'd have to be extremely close to know it. You'd have to be, well… a twin.

Isn't that ironic?

So I'm the bold one. Grand. Glad we established that fact, aren't you?

The second thing you have to understand, is that you don't have any idea what it's like to be poor.

Oh, I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, "Oh please, your family was able to get along, your father had a job, your mother was able to put food on the table. Aren't you magic, after all? Can't you just… Summon… things?"

No. You can't. That's against the rules.

Isn't that wonderful?

Why do you think the Burrow is so crowded? When you're as destitute as us, you don't tend to let objects go out of your grasp once you've finally attained them, like junk or garbage. You hang onto things. You keep them. After all, you never know when something will come in handy.

If you think it's pleasant, living like that, you've got another thought coming. Yeah, yeah, you've got your family, it's all supportive. We're all going to get through this together. La la la.

But we never did. Get through it, that is. We're still dirt-poor, aren't we? Dad's still working for his same pay, even if it is a higher job, isn't he?

You can't Summon food to the table.

So when Harry handed us that bag of Galleons, George may have been all fawning and hesitating, but please. Me?

I was planning what we'd do with it.

A thousand Galleons makes a hell of a lot of Ton-Tongue Toffees.

By the time we were eighteen, we had a thriving business. We were snubbing You-Know-Who right in the face with You-No-Poo. That was one of George's ideas, actually. I was pretty surprised when he came out with that one.

But somehow, it just wasn't… enough.

I guess when you've been… like we've been, nothing is never enough.

And then I could an offer from somebody that was very… well, it was attractive.

And suddenly, it was enough. So I took it.

So I come to the third thing you've got to understand. George is bolder in some things than I am.

Draco Malfoy came into the shop one day, you see, requesting a certain product. George was out. That was the one thing that George was bold about – certain people, certain sides. I was sort of wavy about those kind of lines when it came to business. Another thing you wouldn't know unless you were my twin.

The Malfoy git offered a high price for the Peruvian Darkness Powder, almost quadruple what we had set it at.

My name is Fred Weasley, and I have a secret. I sold Draco Malfoy the Peruvian Darkness Powder, two days before the attack on Hogwarts.


	3. Narcissa Malfoy

My name is Narcissa Malfoy, and I have a secret.

I know secrets well. I know the rotten stench they leave on Lucius's breath when he utters the lies that he thinks keep me ignorant of the goings-on of his play group, his Death Eaters, even as the mouth that utter them form syllables of flattery in the next moment, complimenting a dress, or a hairpin. I know the stale taste they leave on his lips as I give him a kiss on the cheek each morning, as he sits calmly at the breakfast table, sipping a coffee and reading _The Daily Prophet_. I know the slippery feel of them, the almost-touch secrets give me as Lucius reaches for me in the middle of the night. I fancy I can feel them materialize on his skin.

Once, I had voiced my… concern.

"I can't live this way!" I had screamed, foolishly. I was young, then. Draco was not yet born, although he was soon to be on the way. "You have promised to tell me everything, just weeks ago, do you not remember? Handclasped, you said you were to love me, cherish me, hold me dear… not to keep me in the dark, to just tell me what you want me to know! I am your _wife_ Lucius, not your child, not some babe to be protected!"

I think there was yet some gentleness in him, then, for he had reached out a pale hand and cupped my cheek, caressing my cheekbone with his thumb. Desperately, I had grabbed at that lifeline with both my hands.

"Lucius…" I had whispered. There had been a feeling, an sixth-sense sort of worry. If this was not solved now, I had known, it would never be.

His piercing grey eyes had affixed on my blue ones, and his lips had parted slightly. "Cissy…" he had started. "Cissy, I…"

He always did have a rather statuesque face. If he didn't move for some time, I would've thought it was made of marble. Flesh-colored marble.

And in that moment, he hardened. What was left of the Lucius that I knew while he was loving and wooing me was suddenly gone. Even the hand still on my face seemed to grow cold, and his mouth closed as his jaw set in a firm line.

My fingernails had gripped into his hand. He was slipping away, and I knew it – but no nails, however carefully manicured, would ever take hold of Lucius Malfoy. He ripped his hand out of my grasp, away from my face, away from me.

And turned away.

When he spoke, he was facing the other end of the room. "Narcissa," no more "Cissy," then. "Narcissa, you know perfectly well that this is none of your business. I suggest you keep to your side of things."

"My side of things." Which, of course, means cooking, cleaning, and having the heir.

Which I did. Dutifully.

Until now.

Now, I sit on my armoire, carefully brushing my hair back into its elegant chignon. It took me about a month to get that right, it kept falling down and getting in my eyes… I look at the back of the brush. It's silver, and emblazoned with the Malfoy family crest. Snakes, of course, and emeralds. Its decadence makes me want to vomit. I put the hairbrush down and stand up from the dressing table, and arrange my cloak carefully around me, putting up the hood to hide my face.

For now I, dear Lucius, have a secret as well. You shall wonder what this new scent on me is; it is not a new perfume – no, far from it. But you will get used to it Lucius. I have.

My name is Narcissa Malfoy, and I have a secret. I am a trusted informant for the Order of the Phoenix.


	4. Harry Potter

My name is Harry Potter, and I have a secret.

I'd like to say it wasn't my fault, that I was _Imperiused_, or tortured into it, or it was a moment of weakness.

But the thing is… I don't even have to make excuses – because no one knows the truth.

I suppose that's rather redundant to say – "No one knows the truth." That's the whole nature of a secret, isn't it? That no one knows what it's really about, it's like it's covered with an Invisibility Cloak and only the person who's on the inside knows exactly what's going on. Sometimes, people on the outside hear the Invisibilty Cloaked person breathing or something, and they might get a hint of what's really going on… but they don't.

In fact, the more I think about it, secrets (or the people hiding them) are exactly like Invisibility Cloaks. When the secrets get bigger, you can't tell them anymore. You can't share the burden amongst two – or three – people. You've got to carry it all by yourself. Just like my father's cloak only fits me now, I've got to carry this alone.

God, and now I'm just avoiding the subject, aren't I?

I didn't use to do that, you know. Hermione always said that I was always the one who would push us on, past exhaustion, past pain, past… well, whatever obstacles happened to be in the way.

But that's because, well… what we had to do… needed to be done. Getting rid of Voldemort was a good thing, something to better the world, so it was right to keep pushing.

This… is not something that will better the world.

Doesn't that sound strange, coming from me? Me in particular? I think it does. I think it sounds absolutely eerie.

Which is probably why I'm still avoiding the subject.

He would be chastising me for all this, you know. All this blabbering about and dinking around. "Mr. Potter, are you completely stupid? Are you unaware that there is a task to be done here, and that you are avoiding it utterly? Or perhaps you think that your time is worth more than ours, because it is, in fact, _'Chosen'_ Time?" Something along those lines.

Greasy git.

_Well, so what if he was? It's not like he ever gave me any mercy. That's right! He **never** gave me any time to collect myself. Just because he hated my father, that's no reason to hate me! That's no reason!_

_But just because you hated him, Harry… that's no reason…_

_That's **every** reason! I didn't just hate him! He made my life miserable! **HE KILLED DUMBLEDORE!!**_

And yet… every time I justify it to myself, it doesn't work out, somehow. I want it to, desperately.

But I'm under the Invisibility Cloak. I know what no one else does.

I know that he was on the right side.

And I know, at the moment of truth, that didn't matter to me.

My name is Harry Potter, and I have a secret. I killed Severus Snape, knowing he was a loyal member of the Order of the Phoenix.


End file.
